


Even when the sweet turns sour, I will be by your side.

by Trading_Mistakes



Category: Fall Out Boy, Fueled by Ramen, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Arguments, Friendship, Hospitalization, Hospitals, M/M, Male Friendship, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Overdose, Pills, Short One Shot, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, argument, razorblade, relationship, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:51:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trading_Mistakes/pseuds/Trading_Mistakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick and Brendon are on thin ice in their relationship when Patrick finds an old notebook while cleaning. Patrick loses his temper and Brendon almost loses Patrick...</p><p> </p><p>“Dear Patrick,<br/>I can’t do this with you any longer.<br/>I can’t feel this way anymore.<br/>I will always love you, but we just can’t be together.<br/>I’m leaving you. I’m sorry.<br/>I’ll have Pete get my things.</p><p>Love Always,</p><p>Brendon.”</p><p>**No character deaths, I promise**</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even when the sweet turns sour, I will be by your side.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from William Beckett's Song, "By Your Side."

**  
**

_“Patrick?!” Brendon shouts from the bottom of the stairs._

_There was no reply._

_The silence made his heart beat fast and loud. The blood in his face draining and the reality of what he might find is slowly settling in his chest as he started the climb up the stairs._

 

Two hours ago, Patrick was cleaning out the closet of their music room. He was attempting to reorganize the shelves, trying to gather and straighten all the loose sheet music, when he came across a notebook sitting haphazardly amongst the others as if someone threw it there in haste. He had never seen this particular notebook before and flipping through the pages, it looked just like all of the other millions of notebooks that Brendon leaves lying around. Pages filled with snippets of lyrics and thoughts strewn lazily around the college ruled lines. He was just about to throw it in the box he was filling when something caught his eye.

_“Dear Patrick,_

_I can’t do this with you any longer._

_I can’t feel this way anymore._

_I will always love you, but we just can’t be together._

_I’m leaving you._

_I’m sorry._

_I’ll have Pete get my things._

_Love Always,_

_Brendon.”_

 

Patrick’s heart stops. He knows things haven't been perfect between them lately, but for Bren to leave him? Was he really that terrible? His world just crashed and was starting to burn around him and he can’t stop it. He falls to his knees, sick to his stomach, as Brendon walks into the room.

“Hey, Trick. What’s the matter? What are you-” Brendon says.

The sight of Brendon fills him with sadness and sudden anger. “Y-you were going to leave me? When Bren, when? So, I’m not fucking good enough for you?! Fuck you!” Patrick shouts, hurling the notebook at Brendon, hitting him square in the chest.

“Trick, wait! Where did you even find this? I was just writing, it’s no big deal. Patrick listen to me! Babe, come here?” Brendon pleads with his boyfriend as Patrick angrily stomps out of the room and down the hallway. 

Brendon follows him and makes it to their bedroom just as Patrick locks himself in the bathroom. "Patrick, come out, please?" Brendon tries to hide the exasperation in his voice, but this whole situation is becoming ridiculous. 

Patrick suddenly yells from inside the bathroom, “Just go. I know you don’t want to be here, just fucking go!”

“Listen to me; I _do_ want to be here! I _want_ to be with you! Just listen to me, Trick! Trick?" Brendon pulls his fingers through his hair, frustrated at Patrick's unwillingness to let him explain.

An hour ago, Brendon left the house infuriated after Patrick blew an _unnecessary_ argument, _way_ out of proportion. It was a stupid argument about things that don’t matter, but there was just no reasoning with Patrick. When he realized he was just yelling in metaphorical circles, he decided that he needed some air telling Patrick, “You know what? I would love to tell you to fuck off, but that would be too good for you! I’m leaving for a while. Why don’t you fucking figure out what you want and let me know!”

15 minutes ago, his phone chimes. He looks at the screen and sighs. “New text from Patrick.” the screen reads. His mind is still racing, but he still loves Patrick- _of course he loves him_ \- and he probably realizes how much of a dick he was being. Slowly his finger swipes the screen where Patrick's name is.

_“I’m sorry, B. I’m sorry about everything. Just remember that I always loved you but it’s better this way. <3” _

Brendon swallows, reads it again, and immediately sprints to his car parked around the corner from the coffee shop where he was perching in the wake of their fight. 

His fingers furiously dialing his phone while he digs his keys out of the tight pocket of his black skinny jeans, trying not to have a panic attack. There is _no way_ Patrick's doing what he thinks he's doing, right?

“God fucking dammit, Patrick! Answer the fucking phone! Fuck!” He screams into the phone as it rings repeatedly, eventually droping to Patrick’s Voicemail. His shaking hands are making it difficult for his fingers to press redial as he speeds towards their home of four years. The place they fell in love, the place that they were supposed to start a family, and share their lives together.

His voice sounds angrier and angrier as he leaves numerous voice-mails for Patrick. He even tries calling their house phone, but it goes to voicemail as well.

He was only 20 minutes from the house and now, driving as fast as he can. It feels like he is worlds away from his boyfriend- his soul mate. His eyes are welling with tears as Brendon starts to think the worst.

He is 10 minutes from their house and as he dials the phone again, he is praying to _any_ and _every_ deity he can think of, but has never believed in, to help him out _just this once._

He just needs Patrick to be alright.

5 minutes away and he starts to feel like he is coming apart at the seams.

_Patrick hasn’t answered._

_Patrick hasn’t text back._

His heart leaps from his chest as he pulls into their driveway, barely getting his car into park before he is bounding to their front door “Please just let him be okay. Jesus Christ -please!?” he pleads, to no one in particular, as he enters their living room.

“Patrick?!” Brendon shouts from the bottom of their stairs.

It’s eerily quiet and the tears that were barely wetting his eyes, are now streaming down his cheeks as he starts to ascend the stair case and turns left to see the door to their bedroom closed; it wasn't when he left.

“Patrick!? Please god...fuck! Patrick?!” He calls out as he opens the door. He sees the bathroom door still closed and he can hear the water running. His eyes start to blur from the stinging tears still falling effortlessly down his face.

He knocks. No response.

“Patrick?” he asks as he opens the door, hoping that he is wrong about what he is about to walk into. 

“Oh my god, Patrick!” he shouts, sobbing as he drops to his knees in front of the bathtub where Patrick is sitting. A single razor blade sitting next to him on the floor; a notebook in front of him and his earphones in his ears connected to his beloved iPod. 

His eyes meet Brendon’s as he hugs him tightly and pushes the razor blade to the other side of the bathroom.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me, Patrick!” Brendon says much quieter now. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?!”

“I fucked up. I’m sorry. _I’m so sorry._ ” Patrick cries. Brendon looks at him with wide quizzical eyes for a second until he realizes there are at least a half dozen orange pill bottles scattered on the other side of Patrick. "Fuck! Come on, Trick, I need you to throw up. Get the fuck up, Trick!" He pulls him over to the toilet and Patrick forces his fingers down his own throat causing him to wretch violently into the porcelain bowl in front of him.

“Why, Trick? God dammit, why?” Brendon manages to say between sobs as he rubs Patrick’s back.

“You’re better off without me, you were right. I just didn’t think you would be home so soon. I am so sorry, B.”

“I never said that! I never said anything like that! Fuck, Patrick! What did you take? How much? We should call an ambulance.”

“It wasn’t a lot; I just took what I had left. It’s probably all there.” Patrick says, lazily waving his hand in the general direction of the toilet.

“ _And the fucking razor blade?_ What the hell were you thinking?! I fucking love you, Patrick! Do you know that!? I would literally die without you. I would die, Trick.” Brendon whispers, pulling Patrick into his lap, cradling him as he hugs him and holds him close.

“You can’t do this, you can’t leave me alone, you can’t!” Brendon pleads.

“I am so sorry. I’m sorry. I just thought-I thought you hated me. I thought this would be better. I’m sorry.” Patrick divulges somberly.

“We need to get you to the hospital, Trick. I don’t trust that the pills all came up. I just need you to be alright.”

"I'm scared, B." Patrick confesses, and Brendon holds him closer.

“I know, Trick. It’s going to be alright. Okay, up now. Let’s go.” He pulls Patrick up with him and carries him to down the stairs, out the door, and to the car. As they reach the hospital, Brendon parks and walks over to help Patrick out of the car.

“Come on, Patrick. Help me out a bit, okay? Just stay with me for a few more minutes? You’re doing so well. Please?” Brendon’s eyes are welling up again with tears and when they finally manage to make it into the ER, Brendon makes eye contact with the nurse at the front desk. She eyes Patrick carefully as Brendon tells her “My boyfriend tried to OD on a bunch of different things. I don’t know what- Please just help him, please?  He threw up most of it; I just don’t know how much he took.” The nurse exits her station and is quickly making her way to Brendon and Patrick with a wheelchair. Patrick suddenly feels lifeless in his arms.

“What’s his name?” The nurse asks.

“Patrick. His name is Patrick. Please help him! Please?” he begs.

“We’re going to do everything we can to help him, Sir.” She tells him confidently as she wheels Patrick swiftly behind two sets of double doors. Brendon slumps down into one of the hard, plastic chairs in the ER waiting room and cries harder than he ever has in his entire life.

Brendon pulls his cell phone from his pocket. There is only one person he needs right now.

“P-Pete? It’s Patrick. Pete. Oh my god-Patrick.” He sobs.

“Where are you, Brendon? What’s going on?”

“He tried to kill himself, Pete. It’s all my fault.” Brendon sobs.

“Jesus fuck… I’ll- I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just stay there, okay? It’s going to be okay.” Pete assures him. Brendon allows the phone drop from his hand and into his lap. His face buried in his hands as the tears turn into dry heaving.

A short time later, Pete arrives pulling Brendon into a tight hug, patting his back soothingly. “Do you know anything yet?” he asks.

“No, nothing. Not since they took him back. Pete, I can’t do this without him. He has to be alright!”

Brendon collapses once again into the waiting room chair. Pete sits next to him; a reassuring hand rubbing small encouraging circles on the small of his back.

An hour later, the same nurse from earlier approaches and taps Brendon on the shoulder. “He’s asking for you. You’re Brendon, right?”

“Yes. He- He’s okay?” His eyes are begging her to say he is alright.

“He is awake. The doctor will be in to talk with you soon, I’ll take you to see him, okay?”

“Go see him, B. I’ll be right here, okay? I’ll call Spencer and let him know what’s going on. Go.” Pete tells him as he pushes him towards the doors.

Brendon follows the nurse to a small room at the back of the Emergency Department and from just inside the door he sees Patrick laying on the white gurney. A trace of black charcoal on his printed hospital gown, a sheet draped over him, and an IV in his arm. Brendon feels his heart begin to break and he begins to cry again.

“Mr. Stumph, you have a visitor. I’ll be right out here if you need anything.” the nurse says as she gently touches Brendon’s arm and then exits the room.

“Hey, B. It’s okay,” Patrick says softly, his voice raspy. He motions with his hand carefully ,“Come here.”

Brendon crosses the room slowly and sits in the chair next to Patrick's bed. He lowers his head as the hot stream of tears fall onto his jeans.

“You scared the shit out of me, Patrick! You can’t do this. It’s not fair! You can’t ever leave me, not like that. Not ever!” Brendon tells him.

“I know. I was being really fucking selfish. I really have no idea what I am even doing. I would never leave you. Thank you for being there. Thank you for finding me when you did.” He says with tears rolling down his pink cheeks.

“Don’t ever fucking leave me, Patrick.” Brendon barely whispers, curling into Patrick’s side on the gurney.

“Promise me the same thing, Brendon. Finding the note you wrote; the notebook. I thought that was where you went. I thought you were never coming back. I didn’t want to live without you.”

“I was just venting. I never meant for you to find that. I wasn’t leaving forever, I swear! I wrote it months ago, I honestly forgot about it and… I just-fuck Patrick. This is all my fucking fault.”

“Just promise me you aren’t leaving, Brendon.”

“Never.” he says, and he means it.

 


End file.
